By age 15, Josh Franklin had mastered truth by omission.
The scene unfolded every night around the dinner table in New York, his family’s focal point for catching up. “How was your day, guys?” his mother would ask him and his older brother. “What’d you do today?”
“Oh, nothin’,” the younger sibling would typically mumble — his predictable teen angst masking a secret no one knew, other than the crew who was in on it, too.
“I didn’t even share it with them, with my family,” Franklin, now 53, recalled nearly four decades later from his home in Brooklyn. “It was really for me and for us.”
Little did his mother and brother know, he had worked his way into an underground movement, one that lurked in the shadows, anonymous to the world — defined by breaking and entering, stealing, vandalism and, above all, creating masterpieces.
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